


The Taste Of Blue

by Starcross



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aayla is a Garbage Cutie, Battle Angst, Bly is a Bitter Nugget, Clones and lightsabers, F/M, Fluff and Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Rugged & Bitter meets Cute & Deadly, Summer Fling Exchange 2017, Will They Kiss, so much trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-09 19:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcross/pseuds/Starcross
Summary: Bly had always despised the Jedi.So it was quite unfair from life that the first woman to ever seem care about him was one of those Mystical Jerks.Then again, it was bad manners to hate someone who had saved his life. Repeatedly.And who was cute and funny and taught him to wield a lightsaber and whose skin glistened like a warm sea at dusk...Yeah, it was definitely about bad manners.





	1. Dirt Indigo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lamker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamker/gifts).



> This was written as part of the Summer Fling Exchange organized by the wonderful JediFest team, for shadow-is-upon-us!  
> Blyla & Clones using lightsabers as prompt, how could I resist. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (And yeah, im apparently incapable of writing anything below 6k. Eh.)

The battle was a disaster.

Bly was standing amidst a sea of corpses, his hands clenching his blaster so hard he could feel cramps in his knuckles.

He didn’t mind pain – pain was a good thing, pain gave him something to focus on, something to match the agony in his heart as he watched his fallen brothers.

Piles and piles of armored bodies on the muddy ground, faceless and nameless under the pouring rain. Abandoned like broken toys and replaced just as quick, as the few soldiers still standing stumbled over the others with no room to care in their hearts.

Grief would come later, and pain and anger and guilt, but for now the living could not think about the dead.

For now, there was only the fight, the fire and the mud.

White over brown. Rain over tears.

The battle was a disaster, and it was the Jedi’s fault.

“No retreat”, the knight had adamantly said when they had heard about the blockade – there would be no help coming, no reinforcements, no chance to escape this hellish swamp of a battlefield, and the Jedi had almost sounded cheerful.

“We fight”, he had insisted with a confident smile. “It’s our shot, even with the odds against us! I will see no retreat, no doubt and no change of plans – we can do this!”

He had meant it to be motivational, Bly was sure. But the thing about sacrifice was - the ones who made it into grand speeches seldom were those who ended up forgotten in the mud, every day they could have had dripping from them in a pointless puddle of red.

The Jedi had seen a victory ahead, for him at last, and so it was enough to order them not to fear, not to doubt, and to embrace the inevitable death coming their way.

They were soldiers, a little voice whispered in the clone’s head. It shouldn’t have mattered. They were bred to fight, taught to obey, groomed to accept their fates.

But at the edge of the void, Bly had found something.

He didn’t want to die.

And the Jedi’s indifference as he stormed forwards, calling his men to be brave even as they fell to the machines reaping death all around, made his blood boil.

He could hear his own erratic breathing in his helmet, knowing every inspiration he took, every sound he made was recorded into the Republic database, because clones were assets and their voices didn’t belong to them.

A few meters ahead, a man in squeaky-clean armor suddenly was blasted at his feet, and Bly felt the shock shrink back as fury replaced horror.

His helmet landed in the mud with a splash, and he screamed.

He screamed until his lungs burnt and his throat broke, and then he screamed again.

Through the blurry veil of anger taking over his eyes, he saw a figure ahead, jumping and swirling in the air as his cloaked whirled around him. It was beautiful. Every move was a gracious spin, fighting turned into art, death draped in elegance. As if it was a dance. As if it was a game.

Bly had never hated Jedi more than at this moment.

So afterwards, when he would think again of that day, he would never really be able to say whether the reason why his cry of warning didn’t make it past his lips was because of his sore voice, or if something else stopped him for a fateful second.

He watched in astonishment as a blade of green light appeared (green like the Jedi’s, like the flaming sword he had brandished into battle for all men to see and follow, a banner of death for those who mattered not).

It cut through the air lazily, without any flourish, and it met the Jedi’s middle as he landed back from a jump.

An immediate halt to the fighting song.  

The knight watched in stupor, and Bly suddenly fell to his knees as  _something_ shook the ground (the Force, he instantly knew with the same dislike all things Jedi brought to his mouth, the bloody Force and its mysterious ways, which gave people like _him_  power over people like Bly).

Getting back up, the clone rubbed a muddy glove on his eyes to try and see through the curtains of rain, and his heart skipped a beat.

The monstrous droid-machine-thing (Bly was not really sure what the hell the eldritch creature the Separatists called General Grievous was in fact) rolled back to its feet as well, and roared in fury at the Jedi lying on the ground.

Bly almost laughed for a split second –  _yeah buddy I’ve been there too_ , he thought – but his finger found the trigger as a damned reflex.

It didn’t matter to the General, who sent the crouching Jedi flying into the air with much less grace than before.

Bly knew he was dead before he landed at his feet.

The kriffing sword was still gripped tight in the man’s hand, and the clone suddenly felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the weather seep through his bones.

The General collected lightsabers. Somehow, Bly doubted that he was the antiquing type.

He looked at the weapon in the Jedi’s clutched fingers, at the creature striding towards him, and he knew he was dead as well.

The ground was slippery and bumpy, his entire body hurt, and even the adrenaline wouldn’t fuel his legs to run.

Scrambling to the fallen Jedi, he worked his hand open with growing panic, his own gloves soaking wet.

His heart skipped a beat as a raspy chuckle vibrated in the air.

“I’ll take that, thank you”, the General drawled, and Bly felt a new wave of rage wash over him.

That was it. This was how he died. And he would be damned if he didn’t at least make it hurt for the monster who had taken so many of his brothers already.

The rain sizzled as Bly ignited the lightsaber to life, and he charged.

It was a terrible idea, the little voice inside soon commented, but Bly shushed it with a mental shrug. It was. He had no technique, no idea how to use the blasted thing other than trying to hit his adversary with it.

General Grievous, as for him, seemed to be having a lot of fun – playing with me, Bly realized with more sadness than anger, playing like everyone else, like everyone had ever done, because clones were not people and so they had to be things, and things were meant to be toyed with…

One of the General’s green blades came whizzing next to his face, and Bly dodged it clumsily. The next move came viciously cutting into his calf, though, and he stumbled backwards, falling ass-first into a puddle.

_This is it._

Staring in shock as the laughing monster took over his entire field of vision, he wondered how many of his fellow clones he would join with a similar last view on this world.

If he did join them, he absent-mindedly added as the green, green blade rose into the sky. Clones weren’t unanimous about the topic of afterlife, no more than any other species in the galaxy. Bly had never given much thought to it, thinking with a certain wisdom that he would figure it out in due time.

Well, due time was here, and Bly still wasn’t sure what he hoped for.

 _If anything of me shall endure_ , he thought,  _let there be a choice. Let me have a choice at last._

Green came down in a swift strike.

And suddenly, there was blue.

Bly blinked as the flash of light came clashing with the blade, something bright and beautiful and  _blue_  chasing the green-lit terror away. He got a glimpse of snarling teeth and glaring eyes before the blur came back.

Shock finally took its toll, and he collapsed.

\---

The stretcher was bumping unpleasantly, and Bly whined in pain as vibrations shook his spine.

The cacophony around him only made it worse as it reverberated through his skull, loud voices and firearms and an unpleasant buzzing all meddled inside his brain, pounding into his ears.

The noise was so overwhelming that it took him a moment to realize he was blind.

Panic flowed in his veins as he started thrashing where he laid, gasping for air and blinking furiously.

There  _were_ images floating in front of his eyes, but for some reason his brain didn’t register them as such.

The noise only seemed to get worse, as a hurtful moan joined the obnoxious concerto. He didn’t notice that it came from his own mouth.

Everything hurt, everything was happening too fast, and it was loud, so loud…

“Shhh”, someone suddenly said right inside his head.

As if by magic, there was silence.

He breathed in deeper, not daring to move in case it would break the blessed quiet, but he felt something touch his cheek.

“It’s fine, buddy”, a voice whispered, so low that it seemed to merge with the silence. “You’re – hey, what’s his name? Bly. You’re safe, Bly.”

The inner little voice raised a proverbial hand to say that it was extremely doubtful. Safe was not in a clone’s vocabulary – safe was a temporary state in between two dangers, always a promise of more death to come.

“You are”, the voice repeated. “You can relax now. I’m watching over you. All of you. Wait – Fence, can you haul this one up with the rest? Yeah, I’m right behind. Sure. No, I don’t mind. Sorry about that, Bly. Where was I?”

“You said I was safe”, Bly meekly thought.

“Yep. Exactly. I gotta go now, but you can rest.”

Rest was another word that clones weren’t entitled to, the little voice said in a murmur, rest was…

“Shhh. It’s alright.”

And just like that, the little voice shut up.

The floating feeling of calm that had washed over him lasted for a good moment – Bly could feel hands grab him, drag him, moving him around on a variety of surfaces, but he remained quiet. The peaceful bliss in his head was rare enough to be enjoyed.

He still couldn’t properly see, but he soon found that he could hear if he cared to listen.

Bits and scraps of conversation came to his ears as he tried his focus.

“Can’t stay here with the army marching onto-“

“Get me that syringe-“

“Where is the captain, did anyone see-“

“Rest, Bly.”

The last voice was gentle and quiet and the clone immediately recognized it as the one who had calmed him earlier.

“I’m gonna need to move this one”, another voice said – clone voice, Bly knew, though without his sight he couldn’t quite tell whose.

“He’s in shock”, the first one protested. “Doesn’t he still need supervision?”

“His body is fine. I need the tent for surgeries. Put him somewhere quiet, fill him with that stuff, and let him sleep it out. He’s out of danger.”

“Fine”, the voice reluctantly said. “I’ll bring him to my tent, and I’ll come back to assist you.”

“Yeah, that would be cool. I’m a bit low on painkillers, that trick of yours could come in handy. Sure beats the old belt-in-teeth thing.”

“I’ll do anything I can.”

A pungent smell surrounded Bly as two arms gently slid beneath him, pulling him off the table and into an embrace that felt like drowning in a warm ocean.

He breathed the smell in deeply, trying to identify it. The stink of rancid sweat he knew easily, and the muggy scent of wet clothes, with something primal and animal in it – leather, he thought. Warm, unwashed skin in battle gear, radiating a powerful aura.

With every right, it should have reeked, but Bly inhaled it like oxygen.

His head wagged as the strong arms carried him away, and he dozed off before he could feel the mattress under his back.

It was the voice again which woke him up, after some time.

He opened his eyes painfully, and blinked in the darkness. Raindrops were tapping on the tent over his head, which gleamed blue in the light of a holocom.

The blanket covering him was warm, and the unexplainable feeling of safety lingered.

He turned his head to see the silhouette who was talking.

“No, there’s no way we can do that”, it firmly said – she, Bly thought, it belonged to a she. “We don’t have the resources to pursue the mission.”

“You could at least try”, a voice drawled over the holocom. “Your negativity is your first obstacle.”

“Right”, she snapped back. “Because optimism and the power of hope are gonna help us get through four thousand droids with half a company. What do we even need soldiers for, I ask you”.

“Master Varel-“ the other started, but the woman cut him.

“-is dead. Because he thought charging ahead with twenty men against a battalion of destroyers was a smart idea.”

“There will be time to grieve for our fellow Master”, another voice intervened, “but the priority remains the mission. What is your assessment?”

“My assessment”, the woman said, “is that the mission will have to wait. I am not risking the lives of the survivors to attack that bloody fortress on our own.”

“The death of Master Varel doesn’t put you in charge, Knight Secura”, the annoying voice said. “You will conform to the Council’s orders.”

“I trust that the Council will respect my assessment on the situation –“

“Cowardice deserves no respect.”

“And suicide does?” the woman exclaimed. “Will it help the Republic if I just frolic ahead into General Grievous’ basecamp and jump into his arms? You can’t seriously think that sacrificing our last resources on this wretched planet for a grand act of derring-do is on my to-do list.”

“Nor will it be asked of you”, the third voice tried to add, but the other two weren’t done.

“Fleeing the enemy isn’t the Jedi way.“

“Nor is sending people to their death for no damn reason.”

“If there is even the slightest chance…”

“There. Is. Not”, she snarled, and silence fell for a second.

The third voice took the opportunity to slide into the conversation.

“Retrieving the data in the fortress is still capital. We will send forces against the blockade, and we will regroup when we can send reinforcements. In the meantime… do your best.”

The second voice muttered something under his breath that Bly did not quite catch, but the tension was palpable.

“Your analysis of the situation, the Council approves”, someone else said, and the second voice huffed.

“Try to at least get intel while you’re on holiday. And if you do fall on General Grievous, I’m sure that damned droid-“

“Cyborg”, the woman quietly said.

“What?”

“Cyborg”, she repeated in a velvety tone. “He’s a person, under that armor.”

A mix of hushed protestations came over the holocom.

“I’m not technically sure…” one said.

“He’s more machine than man”, another added.

“And at what percentage of machine do you venture the spirit vanishes?” someone else drily asked.

“True. Anakin lost an arm and he still has the same amount of spirit”, the third voice laughed.

“Hey, don’t bring me into this.”

In the blue backlight, Bly saw the silhouette raise a hand.

“A sadistic, war-bent, bloodthirsty person he is”, she said. “But a person nonetheless.”

“What does it change?” the annoying voice droned.

“Everything”, she said. “But I know you have trouble with that whole  _people_  thing, Pong.”

There were barbs in her voice, and someone precipitantly spoke before the other had a chance to reply.

“Alright then. It is settled. Aayla will take on the operation while we attack the blockade, and try to maintain her forces to guide the reinforcements. Anything else?”

“Actually, yes”, Aayla said. “I believe the clones’ training is incomplete.”

“They certainly are incompetent at best”, Pong said.

“No”, she replied with a patience whose last threads she clearly held between her teeth, “they are great. Impressive, truly. I have come to observe that most problems one can encounter with them have to do with…  _management_.”

“Same as machines”, another man said. “You know what they say. 90% of the time, the problem’s between the chair and the console.”

A loud silence accompanied that declaration.

“What?”

“Not now, Anakin.”

“What I meant”, Aayla firmly said, “is that their weapon training is incomplete. They seem to have had no formation at all with laserswords.”

“And why, pray tell, would they ever need that?”

“Because, my dear Master Krell”, the Jedi replied with the same condescendence, “I happened to witness one need that skill today. And it wasn’t glorious.”

Bly felt his cheeks flame up with shame.

“By what means, in the hands of a clone, did a lightsaber end?”

“He saw Varel died. And he engaged Grievous himself.”

“A true act of bravery, that is”, the other said with an approval that made Bly grin despite himself.

Stop it, the little voice inside said. You hate Jedi, their praise means nothing.

“A sacrilege, you mean”, Pong groaned. “Clones have no business with lightsabers.”

“Well”, the one named Anakin intervened. “If it was the only weapon he had at hand…”

“If he had any modicum of respect for our Order, he wouldn’t have.”

Bly almost felt like getting up to argue. But then again, he _had_  lost long ago the last modicum of respect in question, so the annoying voice wasn’t technically wrong.

“Sure”, Anakin said. “Cause he should have engaged the nine-feet tall, durasteel-skinned general with his bare fists instead. No way that could have gone wrong.”

The clone made a mental addendum to his disliking of the Jedi. This one had just gotten his derogation slip as well as the warm woman.

“With enemies like the ones we have”, Aayla reasoned, “they are bound to have to fight against saber-wielders at some point. It would be good for them to be prepared.”

Another Jedi sighed, and slowly replied in a rich bass voice:

“I’m not sure. Quite frankly, Knight Secura, and although I would not have phrased it so, I… agree with Master Krell.”

His grunt of victory made Bly’s tension rise through the roof.

“I told you. They don’t deserve…”

“It’s not about deserving”, the other cut him. “It’s about message. Lightsabers are the symbol of our Order.”

“It doesn’t have to be lightsabers”, Aayla protested. “There are plenty of people across the galaxy who wield swords of one kind or another…”

“And I don’t approve of that either.”

“It’s a  _weapon_ , Mace”, the woman said. “Before being a symbol. You don’t need to be a Jedi to use a lasersword.”

“Technically, anyone can build one with a field amp and a crystal-based generator”, Anakin dreamily said. “It’s not that difficult.”

“Not everyone is you, Anakin.”

“I taught at least four different people to build those on Tatooine.”

“You probably shouldn’t gloat about that”, another Jedi muttered.

“Wait. How old were you again…?”

“In any way”, the Jedi called Mace loudly cut. “Lightsabers and their practice have always been tied to the Jedi culture…”

“I mean”, Anakin said. “They are also practical to have if you need to fight on hand-to-hand.”

“… they are the pinnacle of our Order, the sign of belonging…”

“Not that I don’t like them, but they  _are_  just laser-hot sticks, if you look at it from a technical point.”

“They are imbued with the Force, young Skywalker!” Pong bellowed. “I will not sit here hearing you disrespect…”

“Only the ones we make”, Anakin yawned. “I can’t see why clones couldn’t have training swords, if they’re bound to fight Grievous and co.”

“Enough”, the eldest voice said, and surprisingly, there was silence.

“With Master Windu, I agree”, he added. “Dilute the meaning of our sabers, we ought not to. The clones will rely on their training.”

“But…” Aayla tentatively said.

“On this matter, no further we will hear. May the Force be with you.”

The woman grumbled the phrase back, and the light flickered off.

“Assholes.”

Bly snorted, and froze where he laid when the silhouette turned towards him. The clone coughed in embarrassment as she came crouching next to him.

“I… didn’t want to bother”, he said meekly. “You sounded busy.”

“Heard all of that, did you?” she sighed. “I’m sorry.”

She lit a small bedlamp, and Bly felt his words stop in his throat.

Twi’lek. Pretty. Black eyes, little wrinkles on her forehead. Smudged mud on her lekku, patch of bacta under her chin.

These were the facts his brain was pointlessly providing, but Bly could only see one thing.

_Blue._

“Are you alright?” she asked, and it was amazing to see the wonderful, wonderful voice coming out of these lips.

“I… yes”, Bly rasped. “You… I. Uh.”

He coughed again, trying to poke his brain into talking properly again.

“So. You’re a Jedi”, he lamely said, scrambling for words.

Good job, the little voice said in his head. No way she won’t admire your perspicacity.

“I am”, Aayla said with a smile, smoothing the cover over him. “We haven’t properly met yet, I believe. My name is Aayla.”

“Bly”, Bly answered stupidly, and the little voice was howling –  _she knows that you doofus she called you by your name inside your own empty head and hell knows there was room for echo…_

“Good to meet you”, she replied with the same kindness. “I… apologize for what you’ve heard. They’re not always like that, but… war is troubling most of us, I’m afraid.”

“No problem”, the clone said. “Uh. Sorry I heard.”

Aayla waved her hand, and the little voice vanished again in the light of her smile.

“So, do you remember…?”

“You saved me”, he blurted out. “The… blue. There was blue. Light. And then your voice.”

“Good”, the Jedi nodded. “Blade said that your memories would be a sign of health. I’m still going to give you this, though.”

She took a syringe from a box, and emptied it into his arm.

“About the lightsaber”, she suddenly said. “You did the right thing. And I stand my ground.”

“Yeah, I’m not very good at it”, Bly muttered.

Aayla shook her head.

“You have good instincts. And you’re incredibly brave. You’re just lacking the technique.”

“Maybe I’ll watch tutorials on the holonet”, he said before thinking.

The Jedi burst out laughing.

“You know, I used some of those myself. My former master and I have very different fighting styles, and I could really use the extra support.”

Bly snorted as he imagined the lithe woman in front of him sprawled on a couch watching holovids. Somehow, this was not as difficult as it usually was with Jedi. His former General, the enthusiastically dead one, had not been the type you could picture doing anything else than meditating and jumping into battle.

Aayla though, he could imagine in other situations. Laughing. Dancing. Making faces or hugging people, being a  _person_  despite the powers life had granted her…

“Can you keep a secret?” she suddenly asked.

Bly nodded quickly.

“I’ll teach you. We’re gonna be on the run for at least two weeks while they pierce the blockade, and we’ll have to keep busy anyway.”

“Teach me?” he faintly replied, and even the little voice didn’t add its two cents for once.

“If you wish, of course”, she hurriedly replied. “But I think you can use the skill, and then maybe pass it through for your brothers if they ask…?”

He considered it for a second.

“It would put you in trouble”, he pointed out, the little voice back from the void to yell at him –  _what was he thinking he should have jumped straight on that offer_ …

“If there is the slightest chance it can save your life one day, I don’t care.”

“Yes”, the little voice replied through his mouth before he had a chance to argue. “Alright. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

She put a hand on his forehead to check his fever, and a whiff of her smell surrounded him. He tried to breathe it in as discretely as he could, the intoxicating feeling of safety filling his nose.

She noticed his nostrils flaring, and backed away.

“Sorry”, she apologized with a shameful wince. “I must smell like hell.”

“No”, he hurriedly replied, and he bit his tongue. “Well… You smell like battle, like anyone around here. It’s just… There’s something else.”

“Is there?” she asked with a laugh. “Can’t be deodorant. I ran out last week.”

Bly laughed as well, the awkwardness dissolving into her smile.

“Yeah, well, I’m disgusting”, she cheerfully said. “Now you know.”

“I can’t remember my last shower either”, Bly said –  _really sexy, man_ , the little voice whined.

The light was gleaming on her skin, and it was an amazing thing to feel her all around him – her voice, her smell and the brightness of her cancelling the entire universe out of this tent.

“Blue”, he suddenly said. “You smell… you smell blue.”

She raised an eyebrow, but understanding soon showed on her features.

“Ah. That, my dear Bly”, she said as she tucked the cover around him, “would be the medicine kicking in.”

“I mean it”, Bly whispered. “You smell like blue feels.”

“And what does blue feel like?” she teased, turning off the light.

It feels like home, Bly wanted to say, like they said home was meant to feel. Like a path finally coming to an end, like the embrace of a snarling animal who tore into the world with pearl-white fangs to keep his hearth safe.

Like warmth and power and kindness.

“It feels good”, he said instead.

And then he must have been sleeping, because he could feel her lips ghosting over his forehead.


	2. Cobalt Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here comes part 2 with your shameless Fighting Training Fluff trope muffin!

“Left, up, left – no, left again, dear.”

“Sorry”, Bly gasped.

He took a second to catch his breath before getting back in position.

“Ready?” Aalya asked, twirling the wooden stick around in a teasing flourish.

The clone groaned.

“I’m terrible at this. I have two left feet, I told you.”

“Come now, that’s not true. Think of it as dancing, if it helps.”

It didn’t help, Bly thought as they started again the sequence of movements. Aayla moved like flowing water, in simple yet impossibly graceful motions. She was as different from Varel’s swirls and twirls as night was from the day, and for some reason it struck a chord in Bly’s heart.

It wasn’t just the fighting, either; everything in her beamed with that easiness.

She talked to clones as if she were one of them, and truth be told she was on her way to becoming one. For five days they had been on the run now, moving every day to avoid the patrols, with no other aim than resting and staying safe until the reinforcements came. She was the one who carried the heaviest equipment, tents and all, and even with that Force of hers it still impressed Bly.

She laughed at Stree’s jokes, she had been banned from cooking after the Fire Rabbit incident, and she slept along them like any brother, packed between Bly and Blade under the three blankets they shared.

She had helped Blade patch up the living and tend for the dying, and when it had all been done, Bly knew she had held him through the night as the medic finally allowed himself to hurt as well.

Five days later, and he still felt his heart miss a beat every time her eyes found his and she smiled and the world became a blur of impossible blue.

So the prospect of dancing with her, even in a fight simulation?

Not good for his tension.

The Jedi made two steps towards him, bringing the stick down from above as he dodged; then one sliding stride to the right, and a swift strike to his side that he parried.

“So far so good”, she complimented him.

“Yeah, that’s the next one I keep messing up”, Bly muttered as he lunged forwards and their sticks clashed.

“It’s about keeping your torso safe”, Aayla said as she raised a hand for a break. “If you dodge like this when I hit like  _ _that__ , you’ll get burnt. If you go  _ _that way__  instead, your belly is covered – see? And you get a good angle to hit back.”

Bly made a tentative step forwards, and winced when he went the wrong way again.

“Kriff. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry. We all have a favorite side, it’s difficult to go against your reflexes.”

 _ _You have no idea__ , Bly thought guiltily. Deep in his heart, he still despised the Jedi Order and everything they were with every fiber of his being. It was hard to reconcile this with the kindness of Aayla’s aura.

“Here, just let me – do you mind?” she asked as she came behind him, positioning her body only a breath away from his.

Fern whistled loudly from the cot where he was resting, and yelped when his own blanket slapped him in the face.

“You’re just jealous”, the Jedi teased. “Alright, let’s see. You’re being hit from  _ _there__ , so you dodge- dodge, dodge, further dear. Good.”

Bly kept his eyes straight ahead, trying not to think too much of her presence in his back. He could feel her warmth radiating into his spine, the scent of her clinging to his skin as they moved.

“And now you turn – left.”

She grabbed his wrists gently from behind, pressing her legs into the back of his knees and guiding him into the step.

“There”, she said into his ear. “Perfect.”

And it was, the little voice recognized guiltily.

Bly felt a tinge of regret when she slid away from him, and he avoided Fern’s stare.

“Again?” the Jedi proposed.

Bly was tired, his leg hurt, and a deep sadness was setting in his chest. He wanted to walk away, to get some time alone, maybe sleep a little to try and dream of a different world.

“Yes”, he said with a smile.

They fought for half an hour more, with various exercises as Aayla adapted to his skills -or lack thereof, the little voice corrected.

After a moment, she stopped and looked at him strangely.

“How bad does your leg hurt?” she asked.

Bly, being a clone, a soldier, and more specifically being Bly, shrugged it off.

“It’s tolerable. I can walk.”

“It bothers you, though”, she noticed. “That’s why you keep turning the other way around.”

“Could be”, Bly slowly said. He had not really thought of it – pain and injury were part of a clone’s life; as long as you could keep fighting, you got back up and you adapted. That was it.

“Shit, I’m sorry”, she replied aghast. “You should have told me it was painful.”

“It’s tolerable”, Bly repeated in confusion.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it pleasant.”

Bly wondered if he could tell her that it actually was, very much so, burnt calf or not, but decided against it. He wouldn’t make this weird.

Aayla sighed deeply, rubbing her lekku.

“Come on. Let’s call it a day.”

“I’m alright”, he protested. “And-and… Blade said it was good for recovery to work on it.”

“So is resting”, she said. “I could use a break too, actually. Can I borrow your hands?”

“All yours”, he jokingly said, trying not to look at Fern as the Jedi unclasped her headbands and sat on the ground, handing him the bottle of heat oil.

He still heard his brother snort into his blanket as he put his hands on the woman’s shoulders and she sighed in contentment.

As usual, Bly tried to keep focused on the technicality of it - it wasn’t uncommon between clones to help each other untie the knots in their backs, and he had accepted without thinking much of it when she had first asked him.

As usual, he utterly failed.

The feel of her skin under his hands, soft and slick as the oil burnt his fingertips and his palms drank the warmth of her… there wasn’t anything technical about it.

She was taking over all his senses in these moments – the sight of her neck glistening with sweat and oil against the brown of his fingers, the feeling of her tight muscles relaxing under his callous hands, the low sounds of thankfulness she muttered under her breath, and the scent, the heady scent of her, natural and untainted, painting the air he breathed with wilderness and blue.

It only missed the taste, the little voice joked, and it and Bly both froze in anguish.

__Shit. I shouldn’t have thought of that._ _

No, really not, the little voice agreed shamefully.

Imagining the tang of her on his lips was definitely a terrible idea, both of them concluded. It would be awful to think of running his tongue on the soft skin of her neck, to drink her until everything in the world was Aayla and Aayla alone, and to feel her shudder under his breath, maybe, as he kissed his way up her lekku…

__Oh, no._ _

“Bly?” the woman asked dreamily. “You drifting off up there.”

“Uh, yes. Sorry. Were you saying something?”

“No, but could you please push a little harder?”

Bly mentally gagged the little voice, cursed his filthy mind, and got to it.

The sigh of pure pleasure that escaped her lips as he dug his fingers into her skin didn’t help at all.

“So, uh”, he said after a while, scrambling for something to talk about. “Is it… difficult, for you? To fight with a stick instead of a saber? Cause it’s, well. Not the same?”

He cringed hard at the blabbering that escaped his mouth, feeling blood rush to his cheeks.

“Not really”, Aayla shrugged. “It’s not as if I could use my lightsaber, either.”

“Right, right. Not good to train with a laser-hot stick. Like the sassy tech guy said, whatsisname.”

“Anakin?” the Jedi snorted. “That’s… a fairly accurate description. And yes, there’s that. Also…”

She tensed shortly, and Bly thought that he had accidentally touched a nerve at first, but then her shoulders sagged.

“I lost it.”

“Huh?”

“My lightsaber”, the woman said softly. “I lost it.”

“Wait, what?” Bly exclaimed. “When? Was it when we moved, like… Blade’s socks?”

Aayla laughed drily.

“I suspect foul play is at hand regarding the disappearance of those socks. Though our thief is probably doing a service to the community.”

“Yeah, those things were nasty.”

“Awful. Nothing so mysterious regarding my saber, though. I know exactly where it is.”

“And that is…?” Bly asked, puzzled.

“In the hands of General Grievous.”

A flashback of blue light clashing with green came to his eyes, and the clone felt his heart skip a beat.

“Oh. Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes”, she replied with a humorless snort. Her muscles were stiff again, and Bly stopped his stroking. It seemed to him he could feel her warmth shrink away, replaced by a cold indifference that broke his heart. Slowly, he let his arms fall back to his sides.

“It was important to you”, he said.

“It is”, the Jedi replied in a strange tone.

She wriggled awkwardly for a bit, then lowered her head.

“It’s not just about the saber. That, I can replace. There was… something with it.”

“Something?”

The Jedi bit her lip, looking at him from the side.

“Wrapped around the handle, actually. I was… old when I came to the Order”, she told him in a reluctant tone. “I left my people and my family. And of course I wasn’t supposed to bring anything from my old life with me.”

“You did”, Bly whispered.

“I did. My master knew about it, but he always turned a blind eye. Great man, really.”

She turned her back to him again.

“It was my mother’s wedding cord”, she added in a strained voice.

Bly pondered about it for a moment, and came to a painful conclusion.

“It’s my fault”, he said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

The woman seemed genuinely puzzled, and Bly bit his lip.

“You saved me.”

“… Yes ?” she replied. “What’s that to do with my saber?”

Bly opened his mouth, then closed it without a word. The correlation didn’t seem so obvious, suddenly, though he couldn’t shake away the feeling of guilt.

As if she had read his mind, Aayla sighed, and turned around to face him, squeezing his arm.

“Caring is a good thing, Bly, but you have to stop holding yourself responsible for anything that happens in your vicinity.”

The words stung, even if he couldn’t quite explain why. Of course I feel responsible, he almost said. How could I not? Responsibility… Responsibility meant having agenda. It meant that somehow, his actions mattered and he made a difference, even if it was in a wrong way, even if the consequences were dire. Feeling responsible was all he had, and it hurt to hear her dismiss it like that. He doubted she would understand, though.

There was more sting in his tone than he thought when he replied:

“I thought Jedi didn’t support all that _ _caring__  business.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked a little hurt.

“I didn’t realize I came across as the uncaring type”, she said with a pained voice which made Bly feel like slapping himself.

“Not you”, he blurted out. “I mean… I don’t know. You look like you care, but…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, feeling the weight of her eyes onto him.

He lowered his gaze, fidgeting with his sleeves. The question was real, even if he hadn’t meant to ever ask it. A part of him couldn’t help but wonder how much of her kindness was genuine. It was easy to care for men when they were just strolling in the woods, but she remained a Jedi.

Come battle, general, will you send us to our deaths with the same easiness? Bly wondered darkly. Would any of this matter when the Council claimed her back and they weren’t the only thirty people left in the universe anymore?

__Do you care, Aayla?_ _

“Yes”, she said, reaching for his chin to look into his eyes.

“Did you read my mind again?” Bly asked with discomfort.

Aayla shook her head.

“I keep my promises. Your thoughts are your own.”

She removed her hand from him, and embraced herself.

“I understand, you know”, she said after a while. “Why you think that. And… you’re not wrong. I’m a Jedi, and Jedi are usually very verbal against attachment.”

“Yeah”, Bly muttered. “That.”

“The Jedi were also never meant to be officers. Or soldiers of any kind, really. Yet here we are, and that changes everything.”

“It does?”

“These rules were written for times of peace, Bly. Refusing attachment when you are the only one depending on yourself is… abnegation. When you have to direct hundreds of people, though… I would say we have a duty to care. Otherwise, it’s just abuse.”

Bly thought of Master Krell and of the Jedi’s talk about lightsabers.

Then something else popped up in his mind, and his heart sank a little.

“So… you care for us because it’s your duty.”

A silence stretched between them, and then Aayla put her hands on his cheeks, and looked at him straight in the eye.

“I care for you because I’m not a fucking asshole, Bly. And because I like you.”

Good enough, the little voice decided, and he nodded.

“Duly noted.”

“I damn hope so.”

“…Aayla?”

“Yes?”

“We’re going to get your lightsaber back. I’m not leaving this planet without it. I promise.”

Aayla chuckled, but she didn’t protest. And suddenly, the warmth was back.


	3. Sapphire Heat

The battle was… not as much a disaster as Bly had thought it would be.

Always the pessimistic, Fern had teased him.

With good reason, he had replied. But even he had to admit that things were going decently well for once.

The reinforcements had finally pierced the blockade, and they had come in full strength; thousands of clones were storming the Separatist fortress, led by Jedi that seemed much more concerned with common sense than Bly’s former general had been.

He had been begrudgingly impressed by general Kenobi, a little surprised by general Koon, and very glad to see general Krell get shot in the leg at the beginning of the battle and shipped away just as quickly.

A few meters ahead, Aayla was gathering her ragtag team of survivors like the fiercest mother hen of the galaxy. She had taken their lead naturally, not bothering to ask the Jedi’s permission to do so, and taking the front line as soon as the shooting had started.

Waving the lightsaber Kenobi had lent her to deflect the blaster shots raining at them, she grinned at him, a wild smile full of teeth and passion that made his heart burst.

He smiled back, and followed her lead.

It was Blade who first spotted the mountain of steel and fury landing on the battlefield. Screams of the clones falling to General Grievous’ lightsabers soon filled the radio, and Bly gritted his teeth.

“Aayla!” he cried out, pointing to their target.

The Jedi took one quick glance, and her face hardened. Bly felt again the sudden cold radiating from her as she stormed towards the cyborg, fire turned to ice.

He watched from afar as she strode on the battlefield, cutting her way through the machines trying to stop her, advancing onto the enemy like an unstoppable force.

The General laughed as he finally saw her.

“Aayla Secura”, Bly heard him say through Aayla’s radio. “I have been looking for you.”

“Really?” she drawled. “Hadn’t noticed. I've been busy frolicking in your woods for the last couple of weeks.”

“Yes, I’m aware. It is good to meet you again. We have some unfinished business.”

“That we do”, Aayla said quietly. “These are my men you are stepping on.”

The cyborg looked at his clawed feet, considering the piles of corpses around him.

“Shame”, he replied.

“Indeed.”

This was all the warning Grievous got before Aayla lunged at him, the blue thunder of her lightsaber cutting through sky and metal.

The cyborg roared in rage, and attacked back.

Bly stood aghast for a few moments as the two forces clashed, slashing at each other with a violence that made the rest of the entire battle seem to slow down in comparison.

They were incredibly similar in their motions, Bly realized. Swift and fast and dreadfully simple, no flourishes or displays of technique – just the plain fury of two people trying to kill the other as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Power against power. Brutal strength against unnatural Force.

A hurricane meeting a tidal wave.

It did look like a dance, the clone admitted. A furious waltz from which only one would walk away.

He felt almost bad for Grievous, for a second.

And then he heard another wave of screams, and as he turned to the source, he saw red slashing through the mud.

“Shit”, Blade muttered at his side. “We’re fucked.”

“Like hell we are”, Bly groaned, and he tuned into Aayla’s radio.

“Aayla, dear, hate to disturb you, but the General’s getting reinforcements.”

“I’m a little busy here, love!” the Jedi shrieked, making Bly and Blade wince at the sound. “Deal with it!”

“I can see that. And as amazing as it is to watch a proper fighting demonstration, I’m talking the lightsaber-type, and you’re the only Jedi this side of the fortress, so…”

Aayla let out a string of curses that made Grievous chuckle in surprise.

“Such language, Jedi”, he said as his blades viciously slid towards her neck.

“Oh, get fucked”, she snapped.

She raised a hand that made the air vibrate with blue, and sent a wave of energy into his chest. The cyborg stumbled backwards, and yelled in surprise when the Jedi’s next move came slashing at his lowered guard.

Something came flying in Bly’s direction, and he raised his arm by reflex.

The lightsaber came straight into his palm, and he closed his fingers around the warm handle.

There was a braided leather cord wrapped around it.

Aayla had gone back to her fight, but her voice echoed inside his head.

_Go, Bly._

Bly started running, and the world turned to a blur. 

His feet stuck to the mud as he raced towards his falling brothers; it felt like one of those dreams he often made where the ground tried to swallow him and the air turned thick around his limbs, every step horribly slow while everything else happened so fast...

It took him an eternity to reach the clearing where the red-wielding silhouette was swirling, a dancing death for all those who dared to approach. 

"Get back, you morons!" he boomed at the troopers who still tried to shoot at the newcomer. 

"Now that's a good idea", she purred, and something in her voice went right through Bly's spine like molten steel, but he held still. 

She looked at him from where she was standing, all clad in black silks and menace, the smirk on her face tainted with drops of blood.

Witch, the little voice whispered inside. 

Monster. 

 _This_ was what the Force did to those who weren't as strong as Aayla, he thought. The woman reeked with power and arrogance, her stare full of an implacable confidence.

 _This_  was the kind of power the fucking Force gave its users, to use and abuse over people like Bly.

While Aayla's smile gave those who witnessed it the feeling that they were the most important person in the world, the sorceress' grin whispered only one thing. 

You are nothing, it said. You are powerless. 

You are dead. 

Very calmly, Bly grabbed the lightsaber. 

He smiled under his helmet as the blueness ignited.

"Well, that's new", the witch laughed, but for a split second she seemed startled. "And who might you be?"

Bly stayed silent. 

Nobody, he thought. I am nobody. I am just one of those hundreds of clones who march to their deaths because of people like you. 

_I am nobody special, and I am going to kill you._

It was a good thought, that made his heart sing with justice. He didn't need to be anyone to defend himself and avenge his brothers. Jedi or witch, Force user or not, people died all the same. And he knew he would relish the look on that one's face as he defeated her until his last breath. 

_You think you're special because you can make shit fly with your mind? Because you have one of those laser-hot stickies?_

_Think again, bitch._

"Not very vocal, are we?" the woman hissed, moving towards him like a snake, sabers pointed in front of her in a defensive stance. 

No, Bly thought. He wasn't one of those people who could get into bantering with their enemy. Anonymous corpses laid at the woman's feet, white armors stained with black where her sabers had scorched them to death. He wouldn't grace their murderer with a single word. 

He stayed still, his lessons with Aayla all melding into liquid memory inside his veins. 

Speed was nothing, she had told him. Nothing without accuracy. 

_Don't be afraid to just stand your ground, Bly._

 The voice in his head echoed as he raised the saber, just a little, just enough for a guard. He saw the witch's legs tense, and he stopped breathing when she jumped.

Her first saber came striking from above, and he parried mechanically, reflexes from hours of dancing with Aayla mixing with his own fighting instincts - she had two, the little voice provided instantly, so she would hit like  _that_ and she did, and he dodged ( _further further dear,_  a voice inside his head encouraged). 

The look of surprise on her face as he turned around and striked was priceless, but it didn't last - she snarled and pushed away, and came again faster, so light on her feet Bly wondered if she even weighed anything. 

He didn't try attacking her again, focusing on his defense - I just have to hold on, he thought, maybe a minute or so, Fern is right behind with his sniper rifle and he just needs some time... He blocked a twin strike, slid right to avoid the kick she sent his way, stepped back out of her reach, and started again. Left, up, left. 

Exhaustion soon took over his limbs as they danced around, his moves heavy and hard as he blocked and blocked again, hers swift and aerial. 

It wouldn't lead anywhere, the little voice said. The woman was quick and agile and relentless, teasing him with the point of her sabers any time he let her come too close. 

He thought he saw an opening, and sent his foot forwards, hoping to hear the sound of ribs cracking under his boot, but he met only air, and her laughter echoed all around him. 

"Who taught you, trooper?" she asked with a dramatic yawn. "Who trained you for those party tricks?"

He remained silent still, trying to say focused, gripping the handle hard until the ridges of the leather cord embedded into his palm. 

The woman leaped back with a pirouette, twirling her saber around with a mocking grin, and suddenly Bly saw a Jedi in her place. Green instead of red, and the same swirls and whirls and spins, like gravity didn't matter and the world was a playground.

Her smirk merged with the memory of a fake smile, and he knew exactly what to do. 

The blade whooshed silent as he turnt the lightsaber off, turning it in his palm as he crouched, lowering his center like he was preparing to jump. 

Her facade broke into surprise again for a second, but she gathered her momentum, running forwards and suddenly leaping with her sabers slashing the sky red, two claws ready to tore him to shreds...

... and Bly wasn't here anymore. 

It seemed to him he could feel the ghost of Aayla pushing behind his knees as he slid left instead of meeting her ( _yes perfect,_  a whisper in the wind). Her left saber merely grazed his shoulder instead of cutting through his neck, and the opening was there. 

Blue returned in a victorious hiss, and he slashed in one single move, like the one who had cut down his former master. 

And she screamed. 

_Well, thanks for the trick, General Grievous._

He took a step back, and gazed over the scene. Crouched and clutching her maimed arm, heaving as she looked at the hand still holding her saber a few meters away from her, she didn't seem so dangerous anymore, but Bly knew better than to gloat before victory was certain. 

"Feel free to shoot anytime, fellows", he blankly said into his radio. 

Fire came raining over them, and with a last look at him, the woman fled, using her remaining weapon to shield herself from the laser bolts. 

"Sorry for the delay", Fern's cheerful voice said over the com. "I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Taking bets."

Bly chuckled, feeling the tension lift from his shoulders. 

"We're splitting the wins", he warned as he crouched down. 

The black lightsaber was disturbingly light in his hand, but the clone smiled. 

It felt like victory. 

\---

Night was falling on the muddy planet, and Bly sighed. 

Sitting on a makeshift bed in his newly appointed cabin, he was turning the witch's saber in his hands. 

It was a thing of beauty, he had to admit. In its own way. Dark and sleek and curved, and humming with a twisted energy that felt like pain forged into metal.

It wasn't as easy to use as Aayla's had been. The handle was all wrong and it felt like it was slithering inside his grip, but he kept practising. 

Alone. 

He had always known things would get back to normal at some point. He just hadn't realized how much he would wish that normal had remained - well, whatever it was that it had become in the month they had spent wandering the wilds.

Just him and a handful of brothers, and the smell of the rain on the trees. The smoked taste of the tea they brewed over a hushed fire, the sound of the wind at night when he was laying on his back in the tent, his head resting on one arm and the other wrapped around...

Stop, the little voice said. 

He went back to the saber, wishing away the knot in his chest. Yes, it was a pretty thing. He would keep up the training, maybe find something to wrap around the handle for a better grip -  _would you stop with those thoughts, that doesn't help..._

"I never got the hang of those curvy things", a voice said. 

Bly felt his heart jump in his chest as he raised his eyes. 

Standing in the doorway, Aayla was smiling. 

"Sorry for not seeing you sooner", she said, and Bly saw the sleepless nights of doubt and anguish and sadness vanish before his eyes, a pathetic happiness replacing everything.

"It's alright. I know you've been... busy."

"Chaperoned by the bloody Council, actually. I escaped as soon as I could."

"Ah."

"So, I heard congratulations are in order", she teased as she walked in. "My respects, Commander."

Bly smiled meekly, his hand coming to fidget with the new insignia stitched to his shirt. The title still sounded empty to him - he hadn't received his affectation yet, and although new clones came everyday to join his company, he still spent most of his time with Fern and Blade and the rest of the Wandering Squad, as they had started calling themselves. 

"Thank you."

He didn't ask her. He couldn't. 

He lowered his eyes again to the saber in his lap, suddenly uncomfortable. They had all got a very well-deserved shower and rest when they had reached the base, but he hadn't seen the Jedi since she had walked away to her own room, still reeking and muddy, flashing a secret smile his way. 

The woman standing in front of her was pristine and proper, and he wondered what exactly had washed away alongside the dirt. 

He felt the mattress shift when she sat next to him, looking a little awkward as well. 

"I think it's good that you kept it", she commented. "It will serve you well, if you can manage it."

"I'll watch a tutorial on curvy handles", Bly muttered, and the Jedi snorted.

A heavy silence fell onto them for a minute. 

"I'm glad you got yours back", Bly said after a while. 

"I'm glad it helped you", Aayla replied, fidgeting with the leather cord now wrapped around her wrist. 

"You could have thrown me the other one", the clone couldn't help saying. "It was yours. You were more used to it than to Kenobi's spare. You could have needed it against Grievous."

The Jedi sighed, and brought her knees to her chest. 

"Yes", she admitted. "But it felt right to see it in your hands."

The clone pondered about that for a minute, the little voice begging him not to overthink what was probably just an offhanded compliment.

"I would have thought you'd want it back in your own hands", he observed. 

"It wasn't the same to see it wielded by you as it was by him", Aayla simply replied. 

Bly ran his fingers along the dark saber, his thumb grazing the smooth edges with growing familiarity. It filled a hole inside of him that he hadn't realized was there, and he slid his tongue on his lips before speaking again. 

"You know, I think I understand him."

"Grievous?" Aayla asked in surprise, and Bly nodded. "What do you mean?"

"I may be wrong, but I think I know why he's collecting those things."

"I always assumed they were trophies", she said with a puzzled frown.

Bly slowly shook his head. 

"It's not just that. See, I've heard a lot of talk about him. And half of it usually consists in people wondering whether he should be considered like a person or... or a weapon."

He felt Aayla's eyes searching his, but he avoided her stare. 

"And, well, when people talk about clones..." He trailed off.

"Oh", the Jedi whispered. 

Bly chuckled darkly. 

"We're not supposed to keep things, you know. Apart from our equipment. But most clones are hoarders of some kind. Things can't own other things, you know? And so..."

"And so it means you're people", Aayla finished, her voice laced with sadness. 

A humorless smile came onto Bly's lips. 

"Yeah, we are. But just because we know it doesn't mean the rest of the world thinks the same. So, yes. Call me awful, but I think I understand the crazy cyborg."

Warmth spread through his fingers as her hand slid into his, and she squeezed hard. 

"You're not awful, Bly. Things... Things can matter."

His thumb came stroking the tired leather around her wrist, and after an eternity, he looked up. 

She smiled at him, blue and warm and here, with him, just as she had been before, and his fear melted. 

"I'm not sure whether I want to hug you or punch the rest of the world", she suddenly said in that abrupt tone he loved. "But I support you."

"Both", he replied without thinking. "Both would be good."

She laughed, and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close. The scent of leather hit him as he breathed, just as strong and good as it had been, and he wrapped his arms around her back tightly. 

They stayed like this for a while, tangled in a familiar embrace as the night set. 

"My mother used to say there are only three things you can ever own", Aayla whispered into his neck. 

"Really?" Bly absently said, stroking the length of her lekku with his fingertips. 

He could feel her smile against his skin, and she nodded. 

"First are the things you take", she recited as she touched the black lightsaber. "Second, the things you make."

Her hand came resting on his chest then, above the commanding insignia, and she raised her head to face him. 

"Last and best are the things given", she whispered. "But those you have to accept as freely as they are handed."

"Sounds about right", Bly muttered, his throat tight. 

She was so close he could feel her breath on his tongue, and he thought of that day when he had touched her and smelled her and wondered...

And then he didn't have to wonder, because her eyes were closed and her hands were on his shoulders and her mouth was  _there_  to take, a whisper away from his lips.

Time faded as he reached for her, his mouth pressing against hers. Her tongue slid between his lips, grazing against his teeth, and finally, Bly knew the taste of blue. 

He let the night take them away with the quiet knowledge of the things he owned now. 

A saber and a kiss, and another day to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand they lived happily ever after & stuff. Or not. You decide.  
> That's it for this one, I might write somemore in other fics because I love this pairing (Smut-Land notably is begging for a piece of those two).  
> Liked it ? Hated it? Meh? Leave a comment, they are my daily fuel along with coffee and carrots and CAN very literally make me write more. I strive in feedback. :D


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